So near .....

Picked up the rings .. (but had to lock them away for safekeeping ... waa waa)

Three weeks and counting

So we crossed the 'one month and we'll be married' point ... couldn't work out if the 'one month to go' countdown started from Weds 8th Oct or 4 Saturday's before D day, but both seemed significant anyhow. Today we went to church and heard the first banns being read which was awesome and kind of strange at the same time. 

So now everything is really done, lists and lists written and rewritten and ticked off and everyone organised and sorted and flights booked and invites out and accomodation booked for foreign guests and clothes organised and church booked (that took some doing as they required M15 style security check in form of proof from various sources that I'm REALLY 38 years old and omigod actually unmarried yes spinsterish and withering away on that top shelf with ovaries rapidly dessicating into sultanas I may be BUT NO I AM NOT MARRIED). Finally, it took a letter from a Brit Member of Parliament and a letter from one of

 India's Top 25 Businesswomen (according to Business India Today) to prove to the Cathedral's fogeyish committee that I am free to be married and that after marriage it is unlikely that husband and band of 5 kids will turn up and claim otherwise (an event which actually did recently happen, hence their paranoia). But now, finally, I am set to glide swanlike up that long long aisle .... 

We had fun getting the 500 invites printed at this wonderful little homestyle printers tucked deep into one of Andheri's little communities ... every invite hand printed, this was one place which the digital age hasn't touched. We did end up laser printing the envelopes, but still the desi hand touch defined our invitations. The invites were loudly claimed to be 'awesome' by one and all - a particularly flattering pic of the 2 of us taken at a party last year (and a bit of retouching of lines and freckles Praise the Photoshop) and with a tracing paper cover and the invite inside in silver lettering. Gorgeous. 

Indian Shocker

So I was in the office today when in bounds Ashok, visiting from Delhi. Last time I saw Ashok, he was lamenting his single status and wished he could find a nice girl to marry and settle down with. that was 3 or 4 months ago. He rushed into my office today, huge grin on his face, and thrust  card into my hands. No ordinary card this, but a wedding card - Ashok marries Priya. My face must have showed its confusion, but the Indians in my office nodded wisely. From single to married in a heartbeat .... sometimes I think the whole Indian system of arranged marriages has its benefits. Whilst a million western girls wilt bridget jones like on the shelf, their perky Indian counterparts are advertising for their spouses in the newpaper, interviewing them, and arranging their nuptials if their horoscopes match. 

Buying sarees

Made a trip to Chennai this week, where I shopped til I dropped … for sarees. Tradition has it that the bride to be has to give sarees to various relatives of the groom, plus I wanted to pick up sarees for all the girls coming from the UK to wear at the wedding reception. I had heard that Chennai is India’s silk saree capital with rock bottom prices and huge saree stores everywhere but was total unprepared for the reality – cavernous three and four storey saree shops ringed with sarees stacked floor to ceiling in every imaginable colour, fabric and price range – from the cheap and cheerful 50 rupee number to wedding sarees for 2 lakhs or more. Hundreds of little men in dhotis whisking lengths of gorgeous fabric onto cushioned counters for inspection by hordes of aunties, chaiwallahs roaming around to refresh those parched from the selection process, crowds pushing and jostling to make payment. The entire process was amazing – simply select your saree type (silk, chiffon, georgette, silk mix, etc), your price range, grab the attention of a salesman and try to keep hold f your senses (and your wallet) as saree after saree in all colours of the rainbow are spread before you. I picked up 25 odd sarees in about 45 minutes, not bad going for a gal who can browse for hours. Having picked the colours which I thought would suit everyone in the price ranges as per protocol (most expensive for mother in law, expensive ish for sisters in law, less for the myriad relatives and frankly cheap and cheerful for the UK guests who won’t anyway know the difference) I joined the queues for payment, receipt stamping, delivery and wrapping.
Later in the week I made a trip to Goregaon market, a brilliant indoor market with fabulous Indian clothing shops jostling along narrow walkways. Picked up one saree which I have to wear on the day of returning to the marital home (bought by my future mother in law) and one red and silver number which I’ll wear in the office for diwali. Indian clothes are so fabulous, so bright and ostentatious, makes me laugh when I think back to my drab old English wardrobe full of greys, blacks and browns punctuated with the occasional dark red. I must, simply must, learn to tie a saree.

Thoroughly Spoilt

So we have entered into the realms of Thoroughly Spoiled Indians with the recent acquisition of a full time maid living in our house .. primarily to take care of Bailey, the 4 month old Labrador puppy. This probably seems like a travesty and the height of indulgence to any westerner used to picking up after themselves and scrubbing the bathtub/dishes/floor on a daily basis, but believe me, in a country where maids, nannies, drivers, coffee boys and peons are not only a luxury but a necessity to support hundreds of thousands of poor families, its thoroughly acceptable. Once I had got over my typical western reaction to having a maid (slave labour/can't bear to watch someone cleaning up after me/its an invasion/archaic) and got into the indian groove of understanding that providing a good salary, a roof over head, and an opportunity for a woman (in the case of a maid) to earn something for herself which can often be vital in a typically patriarchical society, then I started to relax and enjoy the experience.

We started off a year back with Tara, lovely Tara, mother of 3 grown up boys who want to take care of her but she is just too independent, who arrives in the late morning and cleans the entire house in a whirlwind of efficient energy, cooking up a maharastrian feast at the same time and managing to convince herself that I really do understand her incessant hindi chatter (I get about one word in four). She started off on a relatively modest salary and we insisted on increasing it, much to her delight of course. A year later and we had fallen for the chocolate box melty eyes of the puppy and realised that leaving her alone for more than a couple of hours at a time was simply not an option.... and so Akala the sweet girl from Nagaland arrived to live in the house. Akala is 18 going on 12, with a sweet giggle and an inability to raise her voice above a whisper. She loves the dog and the cat, and has quickly developed a fascination with Saas-Bahu tv (crappy homegrown dramas always featuring an evil mother in law, smouldering but forbidden hunk, and shy innocent girlie) and is also infatuated with the mobile phone we gave her. She walks the dog twice a day, feeds her 4 times a day, the very self sufficient cat twice a day, makes us coffee every morning at 8, tea when we walk in the door, and keeps the house clean as a new pin. Its a luxury and a half and she seems to be gaining in confidence by the day, and of course earning some decent money to send back to the folks in Nagaland. And Tara is still with us, we can't bear to let go of her awesome prawn curry, kheema, biryani, etc etc etc ... (did I mention needing a flat stomach in the previous post??!).

Bridal Shopping

So the time is racing past … and the wedding which for so long has seemed like a distant dream is now right around the corner .. though I can’t work out what happened to the weeks in between. I am veering between a mild panic, not at the thought of the commitment (which I can hardly wait for) but rather a nagging feeling that something somehow will be forgotten (my current fixation is that we’ll forget the legal stuff, get to the altar and go “whoops”) and the high of the wedding shopping.

Shopping for a wedding in India is something else, seriously. We landed at Amarsons, me, hubby to be and two of his sisters, and sat languidly drinking chai whilst dozens of shimmering lehengas were laid reverently before us. The lehenga is a particularly Indian garment, worn by the bride at the wedding reception, the stuff of bollywood heroines and item girls, the blingier the better, cropped tight across the rib cage and sitting low on the hips to reveal a swathe of belly - see pic above. My bare stomach isn’t too bad, could do with a bit of tightening but happily the lehenga was designed for the curves of the Indian woman, and it nicely flatters my british pear shape. I tried on the first lehenga rather gingerly, wondering if I’d topple under the sheer weight of the heavily bejeweled and very full skirt, but once on, the thing seemed light and airy and swished around my legs in a very pleasing manner. The second, third and fourth I tried felt even better and soon I felt like an old hand at the lehenga, strutting from the changing room each time with a roll of the hips and a glint in my eye. I kept liking each one more and more and thoroughly confused myself and everyone else with my inability to decide on The One. I loved the bling (silver and white) but hated the insipid turquoise of one particular number, and was busy lamenting my woes until the charming salesman told me that it could be made in any colour I wanted, hand tailored according to my requirements, and with the extra bling I wanted on the dupatta (the scarf bit which drapes tantalizingly across the body revealing hints of the belly). Hoorah thank goodness for India and its ability to solve any problem.

Later that day, and somewhat paradoxically, I went for the first fitting of my wedding gown – a traditional (non meringuey) ivory number. My head still reeling with rainbow iridescent silks and satins, I stood in front of the full length mirror and gasped at the simplicity of a beautifully hand cut gown, stunning in its minimalism and thoroughly elegant. India is all about contrasts and this was one of those moments when you realize that you really can have it all. In the space of a single day, I’ll be a traditional bride in white and a vision of Indian elegance (I hope) … though I don’t suppose that too many brides are wearing mehendi (henna designs) at the altar.

Lazy weekend ...

The perfect end to an utterly lazy weekend .... sitting listening to the traffic, new purple candles wafting some mellow scent into the still air, the stillness interrupted by the occastional lorryload of drum bashing young boys on their way from celebrating the Govind festival (the one where people climb on top of each other to create huge human pyramids). Haven't stepped out of the house at all today, and just now managed to lazily dial a curry .... the house is looking spotless thanks to the usual superhuman efforts of Tara who came bright and early this morning whilst I was still snoozing, and my feeble attempts to spring clean this afternoon ... (OK i cleared out one cupboard and washed a few plates but it felt energetic). Beloved has been working all day but happily from home .. we have a studio in what is actually the guest bedroom ... millions of gigabytes of fancy editing stuff ... I can hardly turn the computer on let alone make use of the fcp (first cut professional if you really want to know).

Last night we made it to a party in Malad. For the Bombay uninitiated, thats Very Far Away in the suburbs, and a choking drive through the pollution and grime. It was quite a nice evening though, a surprise birthday party. We took the puppy along with us as we didn't want to leave her alone for too long ... she predictably pooped and pissed and tried to eat cigarette butts out of the ashtrays (well they were shaped just like her water bowl) but she was universally adored so all was good.